Back in January, some friends and I ditched our families for a week and took off for the
Jaipur Literature Festival (and
here) and some sightseeing up north. It was wonderful! (Though by the end of the week I was good and ready to be back to my family.)
Before we went, my friend Bibi was having visions of hobnobbing with the cravat-clad literary elite of India and beyond. It wasn't quite like that, but it was pretty exciting nonetheless. We didn't get there until the second day of the festival, so we missed seeing the Dalai Lama, but the upside of that is that we missed the worst of the crowds, too. This being India, however, we were still literally rubbing shoulders with several thousand people each day.
Every morning after breakfast we walked out of the hotel and flagged down a couple of autorickshaws to get us to the festival. It was great having Bibi along, because she's fluent in Urdu (she's Pakistani-American), which is close enough to Hindi as to be almost the same language. Indians and Pakistanis would both argue with that, but I call it as I hear it.
I took these photos on our first morning drive. You can see from the clothing that it's much cooler in Jaipur in January than it is in Chennai. Still warm enough to lose the sweater in the afternoon, though.
These students were protesting increased school fees.
To get into the festival, you have to run a gauntlet of newsies trying to bury you in free papers. We always grabbed a couple each. Here's Bibi getting all annoyed about the day's headline. Two Pakistani diplomats who were supposed to attend the festival were barred from entering India.
There was plenty of controversy around the festival this year.
Salman Rushdie kept waffling about whether he was going to be there, which kept his name in the spotlight. I saw a hilarious political cartoon about it that implied this was his intention anyway. After seeing several interviews with him, I'm inclined to agree.
People also got noses out of joint about some of the Pakistani authors who were set to attend. The most interesting fight, though, was over some remarks made during a session called "Republic of Ideas," where the panel was discussing corruption in India.
Professor Ashis Nandy said that
Dalits (formerly called untouchables) now in political power were entering into corruption with as much gusto as anyone else. Insanity ensues! There were protesters outside the festival gates (though not nearly so many as Indian media would have you believe), there were arrests, there were investigations, it's still being hashed out in courts and the media.
Two hours after the session on corruption, Kristina and I attended one called "Freedom of Speech and Expression" in the same venue. Oh, the irony! Oh, India!
Here we are back on Day 1 after surviving the newsies and getting our credentials and free tote bags: Bibi, me, Erin. The others were off at
Amber Fort for the morning.
No one was wearing a cravat, but we did hobnob with all sorts. This year's theme was Buddhism, so there were Buddhist monks everywhere.
We paid extra for access to the delegates' lounge (with mountains of delicious, free food! well, free after paying for delegate status, but whatever), where we met authors and other panelists and presenters. Kristina, Cheryl and I had a great conversation with a guy who just moved back to India after spending several years in the U.S. The best thing about the delegates' lounge, though, was that it was a break from the insane crowds. There were actually chairs available, room to stretch out a little. It was well worth the extra money.
Here's a shot from one of my favorite panels. The session was "Laughing, Weeping, Writing," with authors Manu Joseph (
The Illicit Happiness of Other People, which I gave 3 stars on Goodreads), Gary Shteyngart (never read his stuff), and Deborah Moggach (
The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, which I found disappointingly boring). The discussion was about writing humor when life can be so bleak. My favorite quote: "You can't be cautious and write well." I think it was Deborah Moggach who said it.
We were serenaded by this band every evening as the festival closed down. I guess it was their polite way of saying, "Get out, already!"
The festival opened each day with a morning meditation or chants. Ani Choying is a Buddhist monk with a gorgeous voice. Beautiful!
Another of my favorite sessions, "India: An Unbound Breakout Nation in Spite of the Gods?", featured writers Edward Luce and Ruchir Sharma. The moderator was
Gurcharan Das,
with whom Cheryl and I shared a ride to the music venue! Be impressed! This is as close to cravats as we got.
These guys are ladling out free tea, served in disposable baked clay cups. My tea-drinking friends say it was delicious. Indians drink their tea very hot and with a ton of milk.
Sonam Dorji singing Bhutanese music ...
There was a station over near the delegates' lounge where you could get a turban wrapped if you wanted one. They also apparently accosted people who just looked like they needed a turban in order to have a fulfilled life. That's Erin's story, anyway.
The semi-ceiling at the Char Bagh venue ...
Cheryl at a session on Gandhi's legacy, a
more controversial subject in India than you might imagine ...
I love this banner, hung outside the festival book store ...
We attended this session only because we wanted good seats for the next in that venue, but it was fascinating! This is author Tom Holland discussing his research for the book
Persian Fire: The First World Empire and the Battle for the West. I know almost nothing about the Persian Empire, but Holland's awesome talk hooked me. I bought his book at the festival, and now I'm all set to get educated. How do I not know
anything about ancient Persia? (The same way
I know nothing about ancient Assyria, I suppose.)
Once Tom Holland finished filling us with Persia love, Cheryl and Kristina and I snaked our way into better seats for an interesting session on literature coming out of "the new Africa."
Some interesting faces at that same session ... There was a guy sitting behind me who looked
exactly like Alexander McCall Smith, though it wasn't him, dang it.
So the Jaipur Literature Festival was all fun and excitement and intellectual stimulation ... and then I was unexpectedly called upon to defend My People. (You never know when it's going to happen.)
Cheryl and I were attending "The Decline of America," a discussion of Edward Luce's book Time to Start Thinking: America and the Spectre of Decline. Panelists (some American, some not) were making points with which I find it hard to argue: political gridlock, crumbling infrastructure, competition from rising economies, etc. The good news, according to the panelists, is that China is in no position to take over as dominant superpower. More bad news, though, is that since no one is in a position to take over as the world's policeman we're looking at a future of relative chaos. Luce (who's British but has family ties to both India and the United States), kept pointing out the love-hate nature of everyone's relationship with America. They resent us, but they need us.
All very well and very interesting. And then, during a discussion about how 9/11 turned the U.S. Foreign Service into a bunch of people hiding behind fortresses instead of getting out and about among the people (a point that is partially true), panelist Ian Buruma decided to go for an easy laugh and said, "So now you have a Foreign Service that's full of Mormons who learned their language in Utah." Cue audience laughter.
I was livid. I decided I'd never be able to live with myself if I didn't confront this guy, so after the session Cheryl and I tracked him down at the book-signing tables. He was standing there talking to the moderator, who beat a hasty retreat after I introduced myself as the Mormon wife of a U.S. Foreign Service officer currently stationed in Chennai.
I don't remember anyone's exact words, but I started by asking him why he thought a Mormon "who learned the language in Utah" might be unqualified for Foreign Service work. His response was that in his experience (which surely must be limited) most returned Mormon missionaries know a lot about the country in which they served and little about anywhere else. My response was that John was a missionary in the Dominican Republic and now was posted in Chennai, where he speaks Tamil and gets "out and about" plenty, thank you very much. His response (complete with shifty eyes) was, "Well, I know they're not all that way." Direct quote! I opened my mouth to say more, but he excused himself and said he had to get to another session.
Gah! I later (of course) came up with the perfect response. "If you know they're not all that way, then why say it at all?" For the easy laugh, obviously. It's socially acceptable to make fun of Mormons, so let's all do it! Wheeee!
Cheryl and I went off to meet the others at lunch, me still fuming. My friends were wonderful enough to pat me on the back and assure me that the intellectual-elitist snob Ian Buruma was a jerk. They're so good to me.
My little confrontation probably did absolutely no good in the world, but I'd still be kicking myself if I hadn't done it.
There was much, much more to the Jaipur Literature Festival than what I've written here, but if I tried to describe every great session and every moment of enlightenment I'd be typing for ages. If I ever get the chance, I'll go again. Some of my friends who will still be here are already signed up for next year. I'll have to be satisfied with the Library of Congress National Book Festival in Washington next year, an equally awesome event. Isabel Allende was there last time I went. I just
checked the site and found out that Barbara Kingsolver will be there this year! Woot! Who wants to join me?
